


Whispers Inside the Wolf's Den

by RandomW07



Series: Let the People Talk, For We Will Be the Ones Who Sing When their Words Tear them Apart [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Fantastic Racism, Homophobia, Magic, Mentioned torture and execution methods, Multi, Netherlands is done with life, Norway is manipulative and cunning, Politics, Romance, but his heart's in the right place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomW07/pseuds/RandomW07
Summary: When Jan returns to the city of Mittestadt after four years at sea, he expects to spend five mundane months stacking paperwork and socialising with the hypocrites of the Royal Court. He does not expect to be dragged into a secret plot to prevent a major war from breaking out, and he definitely does not expect to become involved thanks to a foreigner who just so happens to be a member of the Royal Court.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I wrote while studying for my exams 
> 
> Jan De Vries: Netherlands  
> Emma De Vries: Belgium  
> Noah De Vries: Luxembourg  
> Mikkel Køhhler: Denmark  
> Berwald Oxenstierna: Sweden  
> Eirik Thomassen: Norway
> 
> F.I.S (Regni Indipendenti del Sud): The Independent Kingdoms of the South  
> U.R.N (Uavhengig Riket i det Nordlige): The Independent Kingdom of the North  
> (Further information of the kingdoms is given as the story goes on)

The port is busy, as always. No matter how many years go by, it is the only place that never changes. Fisherman pat each other on the back after a busy day at work, captains shout orders at their crew, shipwrights check the boats for damage and merchants check their remaining supplies. It's noisy; seagulls squark in search of dropped treats, children yell in excitement at the sight of the majestic ships, dogs bark as they spot one another, workers laugh and chat to one another, looking forward to returning home to their families. The sun is only just starting to set, its amber rays casting lights onto the water and bathing the port in a orange glow.

Jan breathes in the salty air, stepping off the Snow Lady reluctantly. He can't deny it's nice to be back home, but he already misses the gentle rocking of the ship and the freedom of the sea. But he has sold all his goods, found a few new suppliers and earned another small fortune, so it is time to take a break for a few months, stock up on what sold best, before setting off once again.

The city of Mittestadt hasn't changed much in the four years he's been gone. Upper class citizens are carted from place to place by elegant horses, members of the middle class walk around with callouses on their fingers and their heads held high, while the lower class rush from one side of the market to the other, dirt clinging to their faces and backs hunched from years of hard labour. The streets are still cobbled, the stench of sewers and faeces still pollute his nostrils, the houses are still made of brick. Of course, some have burned down, some have changed occupants, but they're still the same houses, the people inside them are still insufferable.

The Siedlerdan wanders through the busy streets, making his way to his sister's tavern. He has been crashing at hers ever since she could afford her own home. He rarely stays in the city for longer than four months, so it isn't worth buying a house of his own. After all, his real home is the ship he sails on.

"The Königliche Leckereien" is bright and full of life when the merchant arrives. It's a small tavern, taking up the lower floor of a middle-class house, yet Emma does her best to up its appeal. The shutters have been painted in emerald green, the oak door is a cherry red, there are colourful tulips and poppies hanging in baskets under the windows and the blackboard by the door informs customers on prices and upcoming events.

The inside is noisy and full of drunkards. They haven't started fighting anongst each other yet, preferring to joke instead. Jan is pleased to notice a few other waiters other than his sister; he in fact recognises one, and almost calls out a greeting before hesitating. His sister first, then his friends.

Emma De Vries is filling up a pint of bear, smiling and chatting with her customers as she works. She is pretty, as he remembers. Short blond curls that rest upon her shoulders, bright red lipstick, warm green eyes and a motherly yet mischievous smile. He finds himself smiling.

"Hi," he sits down at the bar.

She spins around, gasping in surprise before smiling in delight as she recognises him. He is only given a few seconds before she joins him and envelops him in a hug.

"Jan! It's so good to see you again! How long are you staying for? The guest room is free; you're welcome to take it," she gushes out.

He returns her hug, glad to feel her warm living body against his own. He worries about her when he's off at sea. There's always a nagging worry that one day, he'll return to her dead body. It's always good to see her happy and healthy.

"Good to you see you too. I'm not sure yet, a few months probably. Guess I'll go put my suitcase down then come back and chat."

Emma nods, settles herself back behind the counter and gets back to work.

The evening passes by in a flash. Many people want to know about Jan's travels, what he saw, what he's brought back home. They want to hear tales about monsters and people so different to them. Jan is not pleased to share his experiences, mainly because it is nowhere near as exciting as the drunkards think it must be. Trade deals, rough seas, polite talk with locals, these are subjects few people are interested in. Still, he shares, because he needs to keep up his reputation. Who knows if there are any future clients in the room?

Finally, it is closing time, and Emma chases away the lingering customers before locking up. The friend Jan spotted earlier hangs back, though, a smile spread from ear to ear.

"You haven't changed a bit, Jan!" he chuckles.

Neither has Mikkel. His blond hair defies gravity with its spikes, his blue eyes sparkle with mirth and he is as fit as Jan remembers. The only adjustment the revenant can see is a silver ring which glints in the artificial light.

"Neither have you. Who are you engaged to?"

"Berwald, we're getting married in July, if you fancy coming?"

Jan raises an eyebrow at the news. Mikkel and Berwald getting married? Well, that's one he's never heard before! The last time he checked, the couple were simply the product of a lustful one-night stand. No one expected them to last. Seems like he owes a few people some money...

Damn it.

Out loud, he hums in agreement. July's only five months away. He can force himself to stay here for that amount of time. He has many things to do on land, anyway, like finding new clients, renewing deals with older clients and getting his ship checked over by a professional. Then there's recruiting for new staff, buying supplies for the long journey, and who knows what else? Indeed, he has a lot of work cut out for him.

"So, what's changed in four years? Is the King still the King?"

He already knows the answer. As cut off from the rest of the world he can be, he would have heard of the death of King Beilschmidt.

"Yep, His Royal Highness is as much of a grouchy old man as he used to be. Prince Gilbert still adamantly refuses every suitor they find for him, so that's a source of worry for everyone in the palace. They've started searching for a suitor for the Princess instead."

Jan snorts in amusement. The next-in-line to the throne has always been wild and headstrong, much more interested in the military and war games than settling down, getting married, having children and ruling the kingdom.

"In other news, we're no longer at war with Ksevstoku, which is a freaking miracle. On the other hand, we seem to be starting a trade war with the R.I.S, which isn't great. Everything's going well with Solterre and Hilal. We're a bit cold towards Raistice and Hualong, but I think we're working on that. Gudarnasland recently asked for military aid against some rebels from the U.R.N, which we're still debating on. And I think that's the main stuff," Mikkel lists at high speed.

Jan just blinks.

"We're no longer at war with Ksevstoku. How the hell are we no longer at war with Ksevstoku?"

Ksevstoku and Siedlerde had been at war since the first Braginsky and Beilschmidt were crowned kings. Territorial disputes for the most part, a few assassination attempts on both sides and denied military aid had quickly degraded the relationship between the two kingdoms, and had lasted for generations, with no hint of stopping. Jan half expects hedgehogs to start falling from the sky.

"Crazy, right? You can thank Eirik Thomassen for that. He only started attending court meetings a few years ago, and became a permanent member a few months later. I mean, the kid's incredible. You see him and you laugh, because there's no way someone like that could make it onto the permanent court, and then he starts to speak. He's wrecked so many people in there; some don't even show up again," his friend explains.

Jan raises an eyebrow.

"Kid? How old is he, eighteen?"

He means it as a joke.

"Seventeen when he first attended a meeting, eighteen when he made it onto the permanent court. He's nineteen at the moment."

The green-eyed-man coughs, eyes widening in astonishment. It's unheard of for someone that young to make a name for themselves in the cruel world of the court. He suddenly wants to meet this person, as unbelievable as he sounds.

"And you're telling me a nineteen-year-old kid has enabled us to make peace with Ksevstokou, but we're about to start a trade war with the R.I.S?"

"He's working on preventing that from happening, but he can only do so much when he's clearly outnumbered."

"If his reasoning is adequate, he can persuade the room to side with him whether they agree with him or not," Jan sniffs dismissively.

"He's a foreigner."

"Oh."

"From the U.R.N."

"Ah... and he still managed get Ksevstoku and Siedlerde to sign a peace treaty?"

"I told you he's incredible," Mikkel chuckles.

"Who does he stand for?" Jan asks.

It is unlikely for him to side with the king, considering his homeland. The U.R.N. is a problematic country, to put it lightly. Most kingdoms want it eradicated from the map, but lack the necessary equipment to survive so far north.

"In his own words, Sofia, the future queen of Siedlerde," the smirk Mikkel gives is devilish.

Jan snorts at that. Sofia, the second in line to the throne? There's little chance of her becoming queen, unless someone gets rid of the King and Prince Gilbert at the same time. Still, this kid sounds interesting...

"You said he's a member of the perment court? So he'll be there tomorrow?" he inquires casually.

"You interested in him too, then? Yep, unless someone successfully assassinates him in the meantime. Court hours haven't changed, you'll be pleased to know," Mikkel smirks knowingly.

"If he's as exceptional as you say, of course I'm interested in meeting him. He may prove useful, you never know. And, I'd rather we not start a trade war with the R.I.S. They're some of my best clients," he adds.

Emma coughs politely, nodding towards the old clock ticking on the wall. It is well past one in the morning.

"Yikes! Waldo's gonna kill me! Well, nice seeing you again, Jan! Take care, Emma!" Mikkel is out of the tavern as quickly as possible, his panic amusing to the De Vrieses.

Now that the two are alone, they engage in conversation about each other, life and more personal issues Mikkel doesn't know about. Emma is still single, so is Jan. Noah, their youngest sibling, however, is dating, although Emma doubts it's anything serious. The tavern is bringing in enough money, and Jan's job helps greatly in the financial domain. Still, they needs heirs, both young adults know it. Unfortunately, both disagree in the matter. Jan suggests adopting, if neither can find a partner, but Emma is against the idea. Too many potential legal issues, she believes. Before their argument can escalate, Jan changes the subject. They talk about Noah, about his studies.

"Maybe Noah can bring us a new heir?" Jan suggests.

"He's only sixteen."

"And? We'll live a little longer. We need someone to take over the business someday, it's not like we have any other relatives who can do it for us," Jan sighs.

"I'm tired," Emma finally yawns. "Shall we discuss this again tomorrow?"

Jan hisses in irritation, but agrees anyway. They have bigger birds to kill, after all.

Tomorrow, he will attend the Royal Council and try to convince the idiots inside not to start a trade war with the F.I.S.

"Eirik Thomassen, I hope you're as incredible as Mikkel claims you are."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eloise Dujardin: 2p!nyo!France 
> 
> Hope you enjoy and thank you to those who left kudos last chapter!

The city of Mittestadt is an early riser. By six in the morning, the farmers and merchants have set their stalls up and are waiting for their first customers to pass through the marketplace. The fishermen have already set sail out to the open sea, a few lonely souls clean the streets, and cats search for a spot to curl up for the next few hours. By seven, most inhabitants are up and about, buying fresh vegetables and meat from the marketplace, rushing to work, heading to the barber's before making their way up to court.

The sun shines harshly on the stone houses, yet little warmth comes with it. Jan shivers as he steps outside, tightening the scarf around his neck, his breath condensing in the morning air. The Royal Court holds two meetings a day on weekdays, one at weekends. Not all are public, some only concern the Permanent Council, a group of influential experts in a variety of domains, most are rather close to the King; others only open to a select few experts, these deal with a very specific issue most of the time. Finally, there are public councils, open to anyone. The matters discussed these meetings vary, sometimes local agriculture, at other times border tensions.

The Palace is nothing remarkable, Jan can't help but think as he faces the sombre rectangular building built with the same monotone stone as the other buildings in the city. Guards grant entrance through the dark iron gates, checking papers, intentions and weapons before letting people go through.

These two are new. They ask much too many questions. Jan calmly reminds them he has attended many court meetings before this one, that he is fully qualified, no he isn't a foreigner, could he please pass now?

The interior is just as depressing as the exterior. Suits of armour gleaming throughout the hallway, portraits of the Royal family framed in gold, stolen heirlooms dispersed here and there... it is hardly a palace that inspires awe to those who visit. Not even the carpet - a rich shade of red - can bring colour into this dreary place. Then again, the Siedlerdans aren't a people who like to show off. They rely on efficiency and intimidation instead.

Jan spots Mikkel and another man guarding the doors to the Courtroom. He is still a guard, and only helps Emma out in his spare time then. Not much of a surprise, most guards have a part-time job by the side. He greets the two and enters the wolf's den.

The court is a flurry of colours. Women in intricate dresses of red, green, blue, yellow, orange and white smile as they make small talk, men in petticoats or robes similar in colour sip the drinks they are given as they discuss what the court will deal with together. Chairs are laid out in the centre of the room, facing a large unoccupied throne on which the King would later sit, and a smaller one by its side destined for the Princes or Princess.

A servant wastes no time in serving Jan a glass of grape juice. Another sign of Siedlerde's eccentricity. Unlike Solterre, where fine wine flows freely, or Raistice, where people show up to Court drunk out of their minds, Siedlerde demands those who assist the Court to be perfectly sober, and do everything in their power to enhance this rule.

The man looks around, identifying the hypocrites he knows, memorizing those he doesn't. There has been very little change since the last time he was here, naturally. Once they get a taste of power, the hypocrites cling to it the way moths dance around a candle. It is incredibly difficult to rise up to their level, as, like wolves, they band together to tear any outsider to shreds.

How did you do it then, Eirik Thomassen?

"De Vries."

The voice belongs to Eloise Dujardin, a Solterrish ambassador who has been attending this Court longer than most. Despite her age, she retains her youthful appearance; the wavy blond hair she ties back in a ponytail shows not a hint of grey, and her soft skin is without blemish.

"Miss Dujardin. You look stunning as always," he greets her politely.

"You're too kind. It's been a while since I last you saw at Court."

"I've been busy trading overseas. I only came back yesterday. I've been told we are no longer at war with Ksevstoku."

He is interested in knowing what the Solterrish ambassador thinks of this turn of events. Solterre and Ksevstoku are not on the best of terms, to put things lightly. A wedding arrangement gone wrong seems unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but there is nothing a Braginsky hates more than a broken promise.

"No, Siedlerde signed a peace treaty with them a few months ago. A rather..." she pauses, "interesting feat accomplished by Thomassen."

"Thomassen?"

So, she isn't pleased, although it sounds as though Thomassen is the reason why, rather than her personal allegiance to her country. Jealous bitch.

"A mongrel sitting amongst wolves, to put it nicely. Slept his way to the Permanent Court, has few redeeming qualities, and would do better to sort out his own country's problems rather than meddle in ours," the woman sniffs.

I take that back. Hypocritical jealous bitch.

Jan doesn't have time to say anything else, for the trumpets announcing the Kong's arrival sound abruptly. The assembly flock to their chair and stand before it, waiting for the order to sit to be given.

The King, on the other hand, hasn't aged well. His long blond hair is streaked with grey, wrinkles make his already hard face even sterner. Nevertheless, he walks to his seat with his head held high and his back straight. He is followed by his youngest son, Prince Ludwig. The child is no older than nine, yet his posture and attitude mimic his father's. Blue eyes glint with restrained curiosity and he is fighting off a tiny smile as best as he can, betraying his inexperience.

Once the two royals have sat down on their respective thrones, the Court can commence.

"Welcome to the Royal Court Council Meeting. This morning, we will discuss the proposition to raise tariffs on the goods we export to the R.I.S.. I invite Mister Muller to explain his proposition."

A short stout man with a greying moustache stands up, holding a long scroll in his hand which he uses as a written support.

"As members of the Court are aware, the R.I.S. has recently refused the safe docking of the "Nacht Königin", a merchant ship seeking only to sell some coal. You will agree with me, I assume, when I denounce their unwillingness to trade with their closest neighbours, and suggest a raise of tariffs on goods we export there. By how much exactly is the issue I wish to raise."

A chorus of murmurs overcomes the audience as they consider his proposal. Jan groans quietly at the absurdity of it all. Mr Muller hasn't even told them on what basis the ship was refused permission to dock.

"Permission to speak?"

The voice is soft, gentle, low, one you expect to hear from a librarian rather than a courtesan. Immediately, groans and quiet insults are muttered amongst the assembly.

"Permission granted to Mister Thomassen."

Jan turns his head to the left to catch a good glimpse of the kid everyone is talking about.

The kid is stunning. Tall, slender but not frail, with wavy platinum blond hair that curls just above his shoulders, bangs that sweep across one side of his face, pale skin that practically glows under the chandeliers, he is exotic. What strike Jan the most, though, are his eyes. Dark blue pools that reveal both nothing and everything. Even from this distance, they stand out.

Another kid who shags the right people to get places. How disappointing.

"May I ask why permission to dock was refused? By international law, it is required for all ports to justify not taking in a ship."

Any moron could have asked that question.

As is always the case with these kind of questions, the stout man stutters, fumbles for words as he scans his script for an answer. Taking his silence as permission to continue, the kid goes on.

"To save you the hassle of deciphering that messy scrawl of yours, I have some research of my own to share with the Court, if his Royal Majesty and Highness would permit it."

A small smirk makes its way onto Jan's face as Shorty splutters in indignation at the remark. At least this meeting is entertaining. He does note to himself how Thomassen addressed both King Hans and Prince Ludwig.

"Permission granted."

Yet Eirik does not speak until the child also mumbles out an agreement, voice wavering with nerves despite trying to appear confident.

So he wants the kid to actually learn from this, rather than sit there in boredom without a voice. I can't say it's a bad idea.

"The ship in question, the Nacht Königin, was found by the R.I.S. ship control centre, which, may I remind members of the Court, is a unit tasked with checking that the goods and passengers on board each ship seeking to dock in port are in accordance with said port's laws, to be in possession of cartons of psilocybe galindoi, a magic mushroom. The R.I.S. has declared any mushroom classed as a magic mushroom illegal to buy or sell, therefore they have the right to refuse passage to this ship. I think it would be foolish to assume the R.I.S. no longer wishes to trade with us."

"Oh? And where does your information come from?" Shorty challenges him.

Without hesitating for even a second, Thomassen replies.

"This information was published by the Fiumian Ship Control Centre a few hours after the Nacht Königin was denied entry to the port of Fiume."

"False proof by the R.I.S' government! They know we're on to them!" another courtesan proclaims.

A few shouts of "aye" can be heard thought the assembly, although whether that's because they actually agree with the nonsense that's being spouted or because they just don't like Thomassen waits to be seen. Jan decides to intervene, before someone starts an international incident.

"Permission to speak?" he glances up at the King, who grants it. "As a merchant having recently spent the past four years trading with countries like the R.I.S., I've witnessed no hostility towards Siedlerdan ships. On the contrary, they are some this country's most enthusiastic clients. I fail to see how randomly starting a trade war with them could be considered a good idea."

"Siedlerde has other neighbours willing to trade, though," Eloise argues, "Solterre for example sells similar goods to the R.I.S. at lower prices. In the event the R.I.S. responds in kind, Siedlerde can still import goods from Solterre."

"Lower prices and lower quality, you mean," Jan snorts, "with the exception of yourself, Miss Dujardin, the court is dressed in garments made in the R.I.S., and for good reason."

"If I may add," Thomassen interjects, "starting a trade war with the R.I.S. would be catastrophic. The Regni Indipendenti del Sud fought for their independence from Solterre in the early 1200s, and established themselves as a major power in only fifty years, thanks to their trade. They are skilled merchants who could easily influence the rest of the world to no longer trade with us if we offend them."

They debate for another two hours. The short man who started this discussion hasn't spoken again, leaving most of the arguing to Eloise and a few other men and women. Arguing against the trade war are primarily Thomassen and Jan, although a few others chime in at times.

Jan is pleasantly surprised that he wasn't completely right about Thomassen. Although he remains certain Eirik climbed the ladder so quickly was because he slept with the right people, he is far from ignorant. Every argument he puts out is researched, exact, precise. His answers are quick and straight to the point. His jabs are sharp and often result in an utterly silent response.

Slowly, as the debate rages on, they persuade more and more people to back their cause. Finally, the King ends the debate by commencing the vote process.

"All in favour of raising tariffs, keep your hands in the air until a servant counts you."

Servants count each raised hand carefully, making sure no one cheats or is forgotten.

"Now, all in favour of not raising tariffs."

Again, the servants count.

Apprehension gnaws at Jan's stomach. If they're outvoted, his job is about to get much more difficult.

The head servant whispers something in the King's ear. The latter nods and announces the results. Jan crosses his fingers.

"Ninety eight to thirty three in favour of not raising tariffs. As a result, tariffs will not be raised on goods we export to the R.I.S.."

There is a loud cheer from the assembly, accompanied by moaning from some. Jan sighs in relief. He won't be forced to have an awkward conversation with his clients in the R.I.S. about why everything is suddenly expensive. He furtively glances over to Thomassen, who also looks relieved. Their eyes meet for a split second, and Jan receives a nod of acknowledgment which he returns. This is their doing. And they should be proud of it.

The rest of the council is far less interesting. The King has decided to tackle issues relating to trade and finance, which, as fascinating as Jan finds it, is made painful by the Court's lack of knowledge on the matter. Nonetheless, it is a good opportunity to analyse his potential adversaries and allies.

He can't help but notice how Thomassen only speaks up when the subject matter could have dangerous consequences, remaining silent when they discuss building some new houses for passing merchants. Like earlier, every argument he delivers is based on fact, regardless whether he supports the cause or not. He speaks clearly, softly, and occasionally his accent will slip when his r comes out too harsh or he accentuates the wrong syllable. Regardless, he is extremely talented. Jan starts to wonder whether he did actually get to where he is now by intercourse alone.

Finally, a couple more hours later, when the church bells ring to announce midday, the Council meeting ends. The King leaves as fast as he can, dragging his son behind him. The remaining members slowly make their way out of the room, some lingering to converse with their allies.

"Excuse me, may I borrow you for a minute?"

Eirik Thomassen taps Jan on the shoulder and gestures towards a corner of the courtroom. The merchant hesitates. He would much rather grab some lunch at a stall before it's all gone, but he is curious about this man.

"Fine, but no longer than five minutes."

"Thank you for earlier," the pale blond says.

"Well, they were talking crap, if you'll excuse my language. You were doing great by yourself, to be fair," Jan shrugs.

"Still, a merchant holds a lot more weight in this room than a foreigner, so thank you anyway."

Now he can see the young man up close, those blue eyes are even more striking. A typical trait of the Northern folk, as both Mikkel and Berwald have them too, the sort of eyes which seem to stare straight inside your soul. His face is rather expressionless, though.

"Hm," Jan grunts.

"Will you be attending Court this afternoon?"

"Depends what it's about."

"Home affairs."

Jan resists the urge to groan. Home affairs is just another synonym for whiny citizens complaining about the government. He can't think of a worse way to spend his afternoon.

"I think I'll pass."

Eirik nods in understanding and sighs softly.

"Consider yourself lucky to miss that then. We're discussing military aid Friday morning at the Permanent Council Meeting. Would you be interested in attending?"

Jan raises both eyebrows in surprise. Now that's a first! To be invited into a Permanent Council meeting is a rare opportunity, one that almost always hides a personal agenda.

"Why me?" he frowns.

"I need an ally. No one in the Court would be willing to support me if I go alone. If I have someone backing me, on the other hand..."

Jan glares. He refuses to be used as a pawn. There are enough people to fill that role, people who have a lot less to lose.

"I'm not your ally, Thomassen. If I attend the meeting, I will not back your views if I disagree with them," he warns.

The Northerners rolls his eyes.

"Naturally. I'm just telling you _why_ I'm inviting you. You're free to back me or not. Your choice."

Jan considers the man's proposition. Who knows what he would miss out on if he refuses? And besides, he's influential enough by his reputation alone that Thomassen would find it difficult to force him into anything. And he's curious.

"Fine, I'll attend. Just don't expect me to back you mindlessly."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Thomassen holds out his hand.

Jan shakes it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my lateness! We've been having quite a few storms, so no internet access I'm afraid!  
> Anyway, thank you for leaving kudos last chapter! And thank you for reading! 
> 
> Vasile Lupescu: Romania  
> Prince Ludwig Beilschmidt: Germany  
> Princess Sofia Beilschmidt: Female!Austria  
> King Hans Beilschmidt: Germania  
> Prince Gilbert Beilschmidt: Prussia  
> Princess Chiara Vargas: Female!Romano

Eirik hates the Court. Back home, such a thing doesn't exist. Problems are solved by the village elders and a few specialists they invite accordingly. There is no need for backstabbing, fake smiles, pointless loathing, or self interest. Every decision made is for the good of the country. Here, however, everything must be hidden behind a mask. The Northerner sometimes feels as though the Court is a masked ball, where people dress differently from day to day, careful never to reveal their true selves. Maybe that is why he is drawn to the merchant who speaks without mincing his words. The man sports no mask, hides nothing, refuses to play the game so many play. To be honest, Eirik is fascinated by him.

The afternoon Court Council meeting is boring, as he predicted. Home affairs should be the occasion to discuss how to improve the lives of the poor, make the city a safer place, hygiene and healthcare; instead he is witness to childish arguments about stolen cows, fences on someone else's land and how the government isn't doing their job right.

_Really? And whose fault do you think that is when your petty spats prevent us from getting anything useful done?_

He bites his tongue, however, and stays silent. This isn't worth making a fuss about. He needs support for what he plans to propose on Friday; he'll keep as much of a low profile as he can until then.

When the meeting is finally over, he leaves the courtroom without a word to his fellow courtesans. He knows what they say behind his back and has no wish to humour them by pretending he enjoys their company.

Eirik hates being a foreigner. Of course, he is proud of his homeland: no matter what people say about it, the Uavhengig Riket i det Nordlige is a beautiful country with a rich history and culture unlike anywhere else in the world. The weather is cold and harsh, yet it is home to delicate and stunning phenomena that make the rest of the world bland. What Eirik despises is the hatred that comes with being born elsewhere.

"He should focus on his own country before meddling with our problems."

_I think you'll find my country is in so much trouble right now the best thing I can do is leave it and try to prevent other countries from landing it in even more trouble._

"People like him should go back to their own country rather than take advantage of the people here."

_Believe me, if I could go back home, I would without thinking twice about it. However, I'm afraid I value my own life and would rather not end up with my ribs torn out and bent, slowly bleeding out as I wait for death to take me._

"Why should we trust him? He could be a spy!"

_Yes, I'm clearly a spy. Why else would I leave the U.R.N.? It's not as if life in Siedlerde is much safer than back home._

"Have you heard his accent? The guy can't even speak correctly!"

This is the only one Eirik can never find a comeback to. No matter how much he practices, his r's come out too harsh unless he rolls them, and he occasionally cuts off the end of certain words. Siedlerdan is just so different to Nordligan. It's more structured, more clunky, less whispered than his own dialect. Of course, his grammar is decent; he's been reading Siedlerdan as soon as the riots started, after all. He could, of course, ask the xenophobes whether _they_ can speak five languages, of which three fluently, but it's never worth it. Besides, he has other matters to deal with.

The kingdom of Siedlerde is a mess, if he is being completely honest. The government and their policies are a mess. The people are a mess because of the government's policies. International relationships with other kingdoms are a mess because of the people angered by the useless policies the government sets up.

If only the Court wasn't so obsessed with power and influence, then maybe they would see how close they are to disaster. Ksevstoku was ready to send troops across the border and wipe out the entire country when Eirik arrived in the capital, then there's the trade war they narrowly avoided with the R.I.S., or the odd tensions with Hualong (he suspects the emperor's new government to be somehow involved). Not to mention the rebels in the north. No, if the Council let their egos inflate a little, they would see just how bad a job they have been doing up until now.

_Stop dreaming. It won't happen._

Shaking his head to free himself of his thoughts, he makes his way towards the library. One of the tallest buildings in the city, the library holds over 35 million books and scrolls, which is nothing to laugh at, especially if you compare it to the million in Lankaldt's library. It's refreshing to have so many books at his disposition, and he finds himself spending most of his evenings reading up on history and mythology.

Before he reaches his destination, though, a shadow flashes in the corner of his vision.

"So, no trade war?" the voice sounds amused, speaking in Fiumian.

Eirik spins around quickly, pulls out the dagger he has hidden in his sleeve for security and points it at the stranger's face. The man is short, with choppy chestnut-coloured hair and bright red eyes that gleam with hidden intentions. His smile is crooked, a sharp fang protrudes from his mouth to dig into his lower lips. The Northener relaxes.

"Vasile, you startled me," his words come out in his acquaintance's mother tongue.

Fiumian is a rather beautiful language. The sounds and intonations dance and sing as they are pronounced, the r's rolled and the j's practically non existent. Eirik likes it, he just wishes it doesn't feel so awkward in his mouth.

"Sorry," the man shrugs, not sounding sorry at all.

Vasile Lupescu is a Fiumian traveller Eirik had the pleasure to meet a few years back, when he had business down South. The two discovered they surprisingly had a lot in common, and had stayed in contact ever since. He is useful to Eirik, sniffing out information when it is needed and informing him on the gossip around the world.

"No trade war, fortunately. Thank you for those documents; they helped a lot."

"No one made life difficult for us?"

"Almost everyone. Luckily for me, I had a merchant to back us up."

"Oh? And would this merchant happen to be Jan De Vries, by any chance?" Vasile tilts his head to the one side.

"That's the one. Is he famous?"

The blond hadn't failed to notice how the entire Court had seemed keen to gossip about him and how the tall man influenced them so easily. Eirik is extremely curious as to what this merchant's story is.

"You could say that. He spends most of his time working overseas, selling stuff and finding new stuff to sell from artisans and factories. He's really successful, most people have at least heard of him."

"I've invited him to the Permanent Council Meeting on Friday."

"Hope you're not expecting him to back you," Vasile laughs, "unless you pay him enough, you've got no chance!"

The Northerner frowns at that. Blackmail and bribing are widely accepted in these parts, whereas they are almost certain to get you sentenced to death back home. It is another cultural difference he struggles to adapt to.

"We shared similar points of view earlier in Court. I was hoping we would continue to share these points of view on Friday," he admits.

The Fiumian simply shrugs. He clearly hasn't come here to discuss Eirik's personal agenda. The two are allies in the world of politics, they could even be considered friends, but neither is interested in the finer details. Eirik doesn't ask where Vasile gets his information from; he return, Vasile doesn't ask what Eirik's plans are.

"Anyway, Siedlerde doesn't seem to like its Southern ally much at the moment, for some reason, so I have a proposition I think you might be interested in. Of course, I need to bring it up with the King first, but it's not too bad an idea."

"Oh?"

Vasile's idea are rarely to be sniffed at. He may be a traveller with no place among the nobles of the Court, but he is far from a fool. And he knows it.

"Well, Princess Chiara has pretty violently refused to wed King Bonnefoy of Solterre..." he trails off.

Oh. Marriage. Another cultural custom Eirik doesn't understand. He fails to see how wedding a Fiumian princess to a Siedlerdan prince could permanently improve relations between the two countries. What if they can't produce children? What if they hate each other? What if one of the two is assassinated? So many things could go wrong, yet it's a perfectly acceptable solution to resolve international tensions in the south.

"Prince Gilbert has refused every suitor so far. What makes this woman any different?" he says instead.

"Hey, it's always worth a try! Besides, there's always Prince Ludwig as a last resort."

"Prince Ludwig is only nine years of age. We are _not_ marrying off a nine-year-old with an almost grown woman," Eirik hisses in exasperation.

The royal family is a mess, too. Prince Gilbert longs for a war he can prove himself in, therefore refuses any suitor on the principal she would hold him back from fulfilling his boyish dream. Princess Sofia is a bossy aristocrat who prefers to dwell in her music rather than participate in politics. In fact, the only one fit to rule appears to be Ludwig, and he's only a child.

And then there's the King. King Hans of Siedlerde. Eirik would rather not think of him right now.

"Can't we at least try introducing the two? They're both rebellious and have younger siblings who are far more talented than they'll ever be. And they're rude little shits too, so they might bond, you never know!" Vasile whines, gazing pleadingly back at the tall blond.

Eirik sighs.

"Fine," he mutters, "we'll introduce the two. However, we will do so without alerting their Royal Majesties of our intentions."

"You mean kidnap the two and lock them in a room together?" the Southerner jokes. "No offense, but I think that's illegal."

Eirik shakes his head. His mind's racing yet again, a new idea forming in his mind. Prince Gilbert has always refused suitors, so why not just let him meet a woman without expecting him to marry her? Would that appease his rebellious spirit?

"No, I think the two should meet without any pressure from their parents. As far as either are concerned, they aren't meant to be wed to one another. I'm hoping it might make them more willing to get to know each other..." he explains.

Vasile frowns as he thinks through Eirik's idea. The sun is starting to set, and with it come the voices of men and women off to their local tavern for a few rounds. In only a couple of hours, some of these voices will sing as the drunkards stumble through the streets on their way home. Needless to say, the member of Court hopes to be home by then.

"Well, it sounds a bit crazy, but it's not like I've got a better idea. I'll work out how to get the two to meet, you work on preventing another war from breaking out," the traveller finally agrees.

"Easier said than done," the blue-eyed man looks to the sky, "is there anything else you wanted to say?"

Vasile hesitates. He then turns around, checking his surroundings. Red eyes scan the stone walls that surround them, as though searching for preying eyes. Eventually, he turns away, and laughs rather loudly.

"Nope, that's everything! See you around, Eirik!" he holds out a hand.

By the time the handshake is over and done with, Vasile is walking down the street, his figure becoming smaller and smaller before finally fading from sight as he turns off into the next street. By the time the handshake is over, Eirik's hand is grasping a wrinkled piece of paper he stuffs into his sleeve before he marches on, heading on to the library as though nothing had happened at all.

It is only when he returns to the stone house he shares with the kind people who welcomed him into their home and is alone in his bedroom with the door locked and the shutters and curtains shut that he finally takes out the piece of paper and starts to read it.

It is written in his mother tongue, which immediately sends off alarm bells in his mind. The only people who write in Nordligan are either people like him or rebels, and he has a feeling that this message had probably been written by the latter.

The message is simple and clear, and fills his heart with dread.

_Trade war with the R.I.S. averted. New objective: Set the Emperor's palace on fire in Hualong and make it appear that Siedlerde is the culprit. If this doesn't set them at each other's throats, then what will?_

Underneath is a short sentence written in Hualese. The symbols are unknown to Eirik, who has always found the language too difficult to master. He groans before grabbing some parchment of his own and a pen. There is only one person he knows who understands basic Hualese, and he would rather not involve him in political issues like this one. Unfortunately, it doesn't appear like he has a choice. Swearing under his breath, he starts to write his letter, hoping his little brother has actually listened to him for once when he instructed him to improve his language skills.

If not, this entire situation is going to be even more difficult than it already is. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jan and Eirik Thomassen discuss Friday's meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who left kudos last chapter!  
> I've upped the rating on this story to be on the safe side, as this chapter contains a detailed mentioned of torture and execution methods.   
> This is the last chapter for a few weeks; I'm off camping with no way to update! 
> 
> Warnings: mentioned/referenced torture and execution methods, homophobia

Days in Mittestadt pass by slowly. The majority of its citizens follow a strict cycle of get up, go to work, stop by the tavern on the way home, go home, sleep, repeat. As a result, there are few musicians or actors performing in the streets, few carnivals opening for a week, few events occurring to distract the people from their daily routine. Even the children spend their time studying or helping out their parents in the house or in the fields.

  
Jan keeps himself busy until Friday. He runs around town, checks up on his old customers, searches for new goods to sell. Most of his suppliers agree to renew their contracts, others require a tense haggle to get the price Jan is willing to pay. He finds a few new suppliers, as well. Mikkel's fiancé is a wood sculpture who creates remarkable works of art Hualese or Hilayish people would be willing to pay a lot for. Jan agrees to purchase a hundred sculptures, and see whether they sell or not. He would normally purchase less for new products, but Mikkel is a close friend. He can give out a few favours from time to time.

  
Sometimes, he attends Court meetings. He still hates the damn things, but there are matters which require his expertise on, such as finance, for example. The hypocrites are as stupid and clueless as always, although there are a few exceptions. Eirik Thomassen, for example. Jan finds himself sitting next to him during meetings more and more often. He knows how to cut the hypocrites' ego down to nothing and get them to shut up rather than spout nonsense. And he is a surprisingly pleasant sarcastic little shit.

  
On Wednesday, following a financial meeting which serves no purpose save to highten Jan's despair at the country's attitude towards the economy, Thomassen suggests they eat together. To discuss Friday's meeting, the courtesan explains.

  
"I'm guessing you're aware of the reason why the U.R.N. came into existence?" the young man inquires.

  
The two are seated in the Palace's gardens, soggy sandwiches in one hand and steaming plastic cups of coffee in the other. It is a popular place for members of Court to sit at breaks, therefore suspicious eyes watch them as they talk, trying to sniff out gossip and information.

  
"Sort of. The U.R.N. used to be a region of Gudarnasland, and declared independence like the R.I.S., right?"

  
Thomassen sighs softly, and looks to the sky, muttering something in another language that Jan is willing to bet is rude.

  
"Not much, then. So, back to the basics. Many centuries ago, the U.R.N. was an independent country populated by multiple tribes with little in common, save for a belief in the same Gods. A few decades later, Gudarnasland, a unified country with one King, one God and one capital city, invaded and made us one of its regions. Unfortunately, we were treated like crap because we refused to believe in their almighty God, and, consequently, we revolted. After a ten year civil war, we were finally granted independence."

  
There is no pride in his explanation, unusually enough. It is well known how proud the Northerners are of their independent status, Jan was expecting at least a small smile, but Thomassen is oddly neutral in his speech.

  
"For a while, things were starting to look up for us. We had our own land we could profit from, the tribes interacted more with one another, we even set up a common government in the city of Lankalt. We could have been a major power if we could have kept up the progress for a few more centuries."

  
"But the riots prevented that," Jan interjects.

  
He knows of the riots, at least. Although, to be fair, everyone knows of the riots. Their impact on today's world has been massive.

  
"Unfortunately," the shorter male sighs. "A group of Nordligers going by the name of the Sannar Arvingjar wished to take back lands in northern Gudarnasland that once belonged to us. The Council of Elders refused, naturally."

  
"Sorry, Council of Elders?" the Siedlerdan interrupts.

  
Thomassen stares at him with barely concealed disapproval in his eyes.

  
"You've never heard of the Council of Elders? They're our government. The most experienced member of each tribe, which tends to be the eldest, hence the name. So, they shot down the proposition, so the Sannar Arvingjar was forced to officially abandon the idea. In reality, they tried to rally people to their cause. And so the Riots began. Multiple groups, including the Sannar Arvingjar obviously, crossed the Gudarna border and won back the region of Eldís by pillaging the towns there and raping and murdering the Gudarna who were already living there. Then, a charming rebel group known as the Følgjendur Guds proclaimed that the Gods have demanded for the lands that should rightfully be ours to be conquered back. Somehow they interpreted it as the entire world should belong to the U.R.N."

  
_Religion. Pointless hoping that makes the world turn against each other._

  
"Your Council of Elders didn't do anything to prevent this?" He frowns.

  
Thomassen sighs, shaking his head.

  
"They did the best they could, and some of us protested against the rebels, but it's difficult to do anything when they usurp the government," he says grimly.

  
This, Jan is not aware of.

  
"Hold on. The U.R.N. no longer has a government at the moment, then."

  
"It's complicated," Thomassen hisses, "technically, the Sannar Arvingjar are our government, but not even the Rebels follow them loyally. According to them, our ruler should be chosen by the Gods. Oddly enough, no one has been chosen yet, therefore they stay in power, but it's only temporary."

  
"The protesters?"

  
The pale blond looks down at his feet, his tone stone cold as he answers.

  
"Herded up and forced to watch their closest family members executed one by one, be them innocent or not. Then, a few months later, their captors execute them," he mutters.

  
Jan stays silent. Thomassen is trembling, although whether it's from grief or rage, he can't tell. He finally breaks the silence, daring to ask the question on his mind.

 

"Did you-"

  
"I watched my mother's skin sliced open, her ribs pulled out of her back and her lungs spread across those same ribs until she suffocated to death. Then, I watched my father's limbs torn apart one by one, and the remains fed to the dogs," the foreigner cuts in, eyes vacant, "there was a fair number of protesters in my tribe, so the everyone else was skinned alive and left on a post for the birds to feast on, starting with the children."

  
Jan doesn't know what to say. Thomassen stares blankly ahead, as if he's watching it all occur in his mind. He probably is, events like that scar you for life.

  
"They didn't get my brother, though. We escaped before they could touch him," he adds with slight pride.

  
They sit in silence for a little while, watching the people around them gossip about the weather, other people and trivialities that serve little purpose whatsoever. Thomassen's gaze slowly returns to normal, his eyes clear yet again. Jan doesn't push him. They still have plenty of time before the next meeting.

  
"In short, the U.R.N. rebels are attacking Gudarnasland in order to claim back lands that should supposedly belong to them. The protesters can't do anything to stop them, nor can our Council of Elders," the Nordligan finally resumes.

  
"I see... And Gudarnasland has asked Siedlerde for military aid to fight against the U.R.N. rebels," Jan checks.

  
"Indeed."

  
"And you're going to suggest we send it," he guesses.

  
Thomassen nods.

  
"If we play it right, not only can we chase the rebels out of Gudarnasland, we can also chase them out of the U.R.N., if the protesters help out. Then we can put some of these monsters on trial and the U.R.N. can get back on its feet," he explains.

  
His eyes are inquisitive as he turns to Jan, almost as though he is waiting to hear his opinion on the matter. Jan frowns.

  
"It won't work," he shakes his head, "Siedlerde has nothing to gain from mingling in a foreign war."

  
"The Rebels will continue their advance south. Once they've finished with Gudarnasland, they'll move on to Siedlerde. Besides, if they succeed in chasing the Rebels out of the U.R.N., Siedlerde can establish trading routes to and from the U.R.N., which must be advantageous to the country," Thomassen points out.

  
"You still need to convince the other idiots of that. As far as they're concerned, you're an immigrant who wants to return to his homeland. Anything you say serves only to fuel your personal interests."

  
Thomassen hisses in exasperation, muttering something under his breath. Jan chuckles.

  
"You'll get it through somehow."

  
"Think you'll back me?"

  
The Siedlerdan shrugs.

  
"I might, depends on what you say to convince me on Friday."  
Thomassen simply hums in acknowledgment, putting an end to their discussion. Some of the courtesans have finished eating and are strolling through the gardens, admiring the few flowers in bloom, others head back to the palace, hoping to converse with the King perhaps, or chat with the guards. The sun is still high in the sky, indicating they still have some time left before the next meeting.

  
The two continue to chat throughout lunchtime, changing the subject to the hypocrites of the Court. Jan isn't surprised to learn Thomassen is as exasperated by them as he is, and the two mock their comrades with unrestrained critism. He discovers he rather enjoys the Northerner's company. Despite his quiet demeanour, his tongue is as sharp as a scorpion's sting, and he is well-travelled.

  
"If you think Mittestadt is impressive, you should visit Sirayi. The Emperor's Palace is stunning," Jan comments when Thomassen praises the dreary city they live in.

  
"It's too hot in Hilal. Sirayi is pretty, though. It's not the nicest capital I've been to though."

  
"You've been to Sirayi?"

  
"My brother lives there. It's the safest place for him."

  
The Nordliger's eyes are guarded, the young man is unwilling to divulge any information concerning his younger brother. Jan is given his name, though. Emil. In return, he talks about his own siblings. The two compare life as the eldest, laugh at the trouble their siblings get into and complain about their little quirks.

  
"So how did Eirik Thomassen, an immigrant from the U.R.N., manage to get Ksevstoku and Siedlerde to sign a peace treaty?" Jan finally asks.

  
He is curious, to be honest. As talented as the young man in front of him seems to be, Ksevstoku and Siedlerde have been at war for centuries. The fact they've agreed to set their differences aside is still remarkable. It's hard to believe.   
The blond actually smirks at the question, eyes lighting up in amusement.

  
"Easy. Compromise. Not only is Ksevstoku a huge continent, it also has the largest population in the world. Unfortunately, they lack fertile lands. So, I simply suggested we offer them new land. A few islands we have no use for. Now, Ksevstoku can work on feeding itself without having to cross our borders."

  
"The King agreed to that? Hell, you actually passed that through court?"

  
"The Court didn't need to approve of it. I suggested it to Princess Sofia who convinced her father to accept the terms. Then, we just needed to arrange a meeting with Ksevstoku so that they could agree with them. Seeing how advantageous gaining some decent land without having to send out a military campaign was, they signed the peace treaty with minimal complaint."

  
Jan whistles.

  
"Sneaky. Guess that's why the Court hates you?"

  
"Among other reasons. What tales are they spinning about me at the moment, may I ask?"

  
"The one I've heard the most lately is how you, excuse my language, fucked the princess in order to get there you are now."

  
He expects outrage, a hiss, groan, at the very least a burst of irritation from Thomassen. Instead, the Northerner chuckles.

  
"I see..."

  
"Doesn't bother you?"

  
"Not particularly. Let's just say I would be more concerned if they were suggesting I slept with Prince Gilbert. It would at least show they've done their research."

  
Jan stares in utter surprise. Is Thomassen suggesting what he thinks he is? An uncomfortable feeling churns in his stomach. Homosexuality isn't exactly frowned upon in Siedlerde; they legalised marriage a few decades ago, and many people, like Mikkel and Berwald, are openly gay or bisexual or whatever else they identify as. Despite this, the subject of homosexuality remains taboo is the word of the Court, and he has heard of the ruined lives of those who dared to come out publicly.

  
"You like men?" he mutters.

  
The wolves around them appear uninterested in their conversation. Their eyes continue to stare indiscretely however, so it's best not to talk too loudly.

  
"Is that a problem?"

  
"I thought it would be to the U.R.N.."

  
"Only to a vocal minority. The Court is a lot less accepting, I've found. Of course, Ksevstoku is firmly opposed it it, so it's best to keep quiet about it."

  
"Yet you've told me."

  
"And yet I've told you."

  
More and more people are heading inside, clambering up the stone steps slowly, all pausing to glance with varying levels of discretion at the two allies. The city of Mittestadt sings and shouts as people get back to work. Thomassen stands up.

  
"I don't trust you, if that's what you're thinking. You're free to do anything you want with that information," he adds.

  
Jan watches the courtesan take a few steps forward, aiming to mingle with the wolves once again. Before he does, however, he turns around.

  
"Oh, by the way, my friends call me Eirik."

  
And Eirik Thomassen walks away, leaving Jan in the Palace garden with information that could potentially bring forth his downfall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awfully sorry for the late update! I've just started uni, so things aren't likely to be like earlier this summer, although I'll do my best to write as much as I can!   
> A huge thank you to those who left kudos, and to those who read last chapter and enjoyed it! 
> 
> Quick reminder:  
> \- Fem!Austria: Princess Sofia of Siedlerde  
> \- Berwald Oxenstierna: Sweden

If there is one thing Jan dislikes about his sister, it is her annoying ability to tell whenever something's on his mind. By the time the last customers stagger out of the Königliche Leckereien late Thursday night, Emma has had plenty of time to sense that something's up. She turns on him with a raised eyebrow and her hands on her hips.

"Spit it out. What's bugging you?"

Foam bubbles inside empty pints, some of it taints the wooden surface where a glass or two has been knocked over. Jan collects them, putting them down on the counter for the blonde to wash up, shaking his head in response to her question.

"Nothing you need to know."

He knows his dismissive answer will do nothing to appease her. When it comes to secrets, his sister becomes a fearsome beast, natural curiosity mingled with worry sharpening her determination to unveil whatever she wishes to. Unfortunately for her, Jan refuses to discuss it with her at this moment in time.

The problem is, of course, Eirik Thomassen. The man is an enigma. Secretive yet open about his plans, dismissive of the Court he relies on for survival, he has no qualms with divulging personal information to a man he met only a few days ago. It unsettles Jan.

Tomorrow's meeting draws nearer and nearer as the hours tick by, but the Siedlerdan still can't decide whether he should back the foreigner or not. In an ideal world, he would do so without hesitation. The Nordliger's arguments make perfect sense, based in logical fact Jan could never deny, however if there are other things he must consider before picking a side. Public opinion, for example. Who knows whether potential clients will be attending that meeting, rich clients who disagree with Thomassen's ideas? As much as Jan trusts their professionalism, he knows how fickle their minds can be. He would be a fool to ignore the impact his decision could have on his business.

"I don't suppose this "nothing" has anything to do with tomorrow's meeting, by any chance? You've been uptight ever since you mentioned it."

Much to Jan's growing irritation, Emma doesn't drop the issue there. Can't she see he has no intention in telling her about it? Why is she pushing it? He doesn't want to argue with her, not this late at night, but tension has been brewing between the siblings ever since the eldest's return to Mittestadt. It's only a matter of time before the storm breaks.

"Drop it, Emma. It's none of your business."

"Oh, isn't it? Need I remind you who has to deal with your grouchiness every evening? Or who's currently letting you live in her home? A home that just so happens to be linked to a busy bar with easily influenced clients? Anything you say in Court could affect _my_ business."

Emma rarely loses her temper. A carefree woman who lets things go easily, respectful of other people's boundaries, she's _never_ salty about _anything_. However, when something pushes her buttons far enough, viciousness unbefitting of such a person rears it ugly head.

Jan slams the glasses down on the counter.

"You don't have to deal with my grouchiness. I do have friends I can stay with, you know. I just thought I should spend the little time I have in Mittestadt with my little sister. Of course, if my attending Court disrupts your precious business, then I'll just leave then," he snaps, "you could also change your last name. Getting married would free your business from my clearly bad name."

Emma's green eyes flash with fury, lips narrowing into a thin line. She's behind angry by now. Leaving the glasses in the washing up water, she takes a few steps towards her brother, not even bothering to hide it.

"Funny for older brother who, may I add, has never dated, let alone married, anyone in his entire life, to nag at me about getting married. What? Is that all you think I'm good for? Wedding some wealthy stranger and pumping out heirs to prolong a different family name?"

So she's back to Monday's conversation. How _typical_.

"Don't be stupid. I'm just saying that if Jan De Vries is such a bad influence on your business than maybe you should no longer be Emma De Vries."

The proud woman scoffs, eyes practically boring holes into him, arms crossed. He's hit a nerve. Good. The merchant wasn't lying when he said he had friends he could stay with. Mikkel would welcome him with open arms if he showed up unannounced, even though he would eventually force the siblings to reconcile the next morning.

"Why are you so defensive all of a sudden? I only asked what was bothering you, and here you going bringing up my non existent dating life!"

"Because, as I've already said, it's none of your business."

Jan's halfway up the stairs at this point, his mind made up. He'll spend the night at Mikkel's. Hopefully his Emma will have calmed down by then. If she hasn't, then he'll just stay with his best friend for a few more days.

"You know, you act more concerned about my love life than the consequences your actions in Court could have on _both_ of our businesses. I could almost believe you _like_ someone."

He ignores her ceaseless shrieking as he grabs a change of clothes and bunch of important papers, pushing past her and swinging the front door open. He's gone before it even slams.

Her nonsensical theories drive him mad. The merchants is at sea most of the time. Not only does that mean he rarely stays anywhere long enough to hook up with someone, he highly doubts anyone in their right mind would commit to such a relationship. At least, Jan wouldn't, and he knows he's no fool. Besides, who in Court could make his heart skip a beat? As far as he's concerned, they're all a bunch of hypocrites adorning fake personalities.

_Stupid little sister. If only your mind wasn't filled with dreams, maybe it would stop inventing problems that don't exist._

This late at night, the streets of Mittestadt are silent. When the sun sets, the freedom present during the day fades away to leave place to constant vigilance. The city guard roam the city, eyes peeled, guns at the ready, prepared to arrest any misfit unfortunate enough to cross their path. It isn't unsafe, though, so it doesn't particularly bother him. At least it means he won't get mugged.

Mikkel, and his fiancé, Jan reminds himself, live in one of the busiest parts of the city. Day and night, artisans perfect their trade, creating works of such outstanding quality it never fails to sell. Blacksmiths, bakers, weavers, seamstresses, sculptors... you name it, Kunst Street has it. A few late workers greet the merchant as he passes in front of their workshops, long-time clients of his he truly appreciates.

The house, more of a cottage really, appears rather plain and unassuming from the outside. Half-timbered, its white walls gleam in the light cast by green lamps, courtyard surprisingly neat. A few flowers grow in pots on window ledges, a cat prowls amongst the bushes, amber eyes gleam as they stare at the newcomer. A workshop, recently built, breaks off on its right-hand side. Mikkel is the one to answer the door, mouth forming a surprised "o" upon recognizing his friend.

"Jan, my man! What're you doing here so late?"

"Argument with Emma. Can I stay here tonight?"

"Sure, make yourself at home! Hope you don't mind sleeping on the couch, though. The guest room's been full for the past few months," the blond leads him through the hallway to the living room.

"Family?"

"I guess, in a way. He's a childhood friend of mine."

While Mikkel goes to loudly inform Berwald of Jan's arrival, the young man sets his things down on the coffee table and settles himself down on the sofa, pulling a few papers out from the pile to have a read of them.

Most of his day has been spent in the library, reading up on Gudarnasland and its neighbours, taking note of potentially useful information he could use tomorrow. Most of it turns out to be reformulations of Thomassen's speech, although a few tidbits of knowledge are new to him.

He chats with Mikkel for a few hours, laughing and joking around a few pints of beer, only joined by Berwald late into the night. Jan doesn't have much of an opinion on the stern man with calloused hands and a constant glare. He suspects he's not as fearsome as his appearance suggests; the more the merchant thinks about it, the more he's certain he is that the giant's glare is simply a squint caused by old glasses with a now incorrect prescription. The stern man doesn't say much, preferring to listen rather than talk, unlike his fiancé who talks enough for the both of them.

Every now and then, footsteps thud against the wooden floorboards above their heads, the guest hiding upstairs going from pacing to tapping their foot against the floor every five minutes.

"Has he 'ten ye'?"

And then there's Berwald's accent to deal with. Jan has no idea how Mikkel understands him. His words come out mumbled and mashed together, the speaker never bothering to articulate. Added to his Gudarna accent, he can be incomprehensible.

"Dunno. He said he had urgent stuff to deal with first," Mikkel shrugs.

Before the Gudarnasman can move on to something else, their conversation is interrupted by a door slamming against the wall as it's swung open. Heavy and rapid twiddling assaults their ears as someone runs downstairs, skipping a stair or two on his way down. The sounds cease as the guest reaches the threshold, then a figure appears in the doorway.

Jan can only stare. What in the world is _he_ doing here?

Eirik Thomassen is displaying the most emotion Jan has ever seen on his face, with dark blue eyes opened wide, lip caught between his teeth, hair messy beyond belief, and hastily thrown on rumpled blue robes. The two lock eyes.

"What are you doing here? Wait, don't answer. You and I are going out," the Nordliger frowns.

"Excuse me?"

This time, Thomassen actually groans out loud, crumpling the documents clenched in his hands in his frustration.

"I'll explain on the way. Now hurry up; I need a merchant with some experience overseas. You have Hualese clients, right? You know their customs at least a little bit, right?"

Jan nods. He even speaks a little Hualese, and can read it thanks to a good client of his. Hualong is a strange country, secluded yet willing to trade with its neighbours. An ambitious country with excellent work ethics, the Siedlerdan enjoys sailing over there.

"I'm coming, give me five minutes. Sorry Mikkel, Berwald."

Mikkel waves him off with a grin, as though Thomassen rushing out at an ungodly hour is a common occurrence. Berwald, on the other hand, hastens towards the kitchen before returning with a muddle of food which he tosses at the shortest male.

"Y'should eat at som' point."

The Nordliger rolls his eyes in exasperation, although he accepts the package with a polite "thank you". His eyes bear into Jan as the latter gets ready, impatience practically flowing out of his body as his foot taps against the floor and his fingers drum against his papers. The two are out of the house in less than a minute.

It's clear as they take to the streets that Thomassen will slow down for nobody. Fortunately, Jan is a fast walker, so keeps up with his long strides with little difficulty, although he does occasionally wonder whether they'll ever reach their destination, especially when they sprint across busy roads without paying attention to the carts they dart out in front of.

Eirik offers no explanation as to why they're recklessly risking their lives, not even when they near the Palace. The gates are sealed shut at this time of night, a few guards stand watch before them, otherwise there's no sign of life.

"And how do you expect we get inside the Palace? No one's awake at this hour," Jan finally points out.

Yet again, his companion ignores him. Instead, he veers sharply to the left, where thick vines climb up the stone walls. Only three metres in height, they manage to dissuade people from climbing over thanks to the sharp iron spines that line its summit. Eirik doesn't heed the warning, latching on to one of the vines and hoisting himself upwards.

"Come on. These vines were grown as an extra means of escape if ever the Royal Family needed to leave suddenly. They can easily take her weight," he calls out.

It's not the vines Jan's worried about. Those spikes look painful. However, he decides to take the platinum blond's word on it, and begins to climb the wall. Indeed, the plants take his weight easily, and the spikes aren't too difficult to avoid. He's beginning to suspect Thomassen does this on a regular basis, judging from the agile way with which he avoids the spikes and jumps down, landing gracefully on the neatly trimmed grass below. Jan, on the other hand, rips his pants on the spikes and has to rely on the vines on the other side of the door to get down.

"You do this often?" he pants as he reaches the bottom.

"Often enough. This way."

The palace grounds are silent. A few crickets chirp in the nearby bushes, an old hoots from a tree a few metres away, but other than that, they are the only ones to wander the Sandy pathways. The King must have become more lax in guarding the Palace since the last time Jan stayed in Mittestadt.

"We'll be fine outside. The King prefers his guards to do their hob from inside the castle walls," Thomassen explains.

They finally stop underneath a row of dimmed windows, and Thomassen flings a pebble he must have been keeping in his pocket at the one directly above them. It bounces off the glass with a quiet tapping sound. A light flickers on. A pale face appears on the other side of the glass before disappearing. Retrieving the pebble and pocketing it for later use, the Nordliger motions for Jan to follow him.

The small wooden door at the side of the building went unnoticed by Jan, but now he sees it clearly as it swings open, casting a path of light over the grass around them.

"Eirik Thomassen. Why do you deem it necessary to awaken me at three o'clock in the morning?"

"Eirik Thomassen. Why do you deem it necessary to wake me at three o'clock in the morning? If my father were to know about this, your career would be terminated."

Princess Sofia of Siedlerde, also known as Sofia Beilschmidt, rarely appears in public. She much prefers to hide away in the Palace, where she loses herself in her music. The few times the common people get to see her, she's always performing mesmerising compositions on the piano at important events. Whether she disregards lower class citizens or is simply that passionate about playing instruments, no one knows. Seeing her standing the the doorway, back straight, lips pursed, unusual violet eyes passing over the newcomers with evident disdain, Jan suspects the former.

"My apologies, your highness. We have urgent business to discuss with you," Thomassen greets her with a respectful bow of the head.

The formality in the exchange surprises Jan. Perhaps it's because a part of him still believes in the rumours spread despite the courtesan's confession, but he expected the two to be a lot more friendly with each other. He wonders whether hypocrites like Eloise Dubois have actually seen them interact with one another.

The princess leads them through uninhabited hallways, past walls covered with portraits of the royal family framed in gold and coats of armour that look even more sinister in the dim light cast by the lady's lantern. She stops to greet the two guards standing guard outside her chamber, informing them of our decision to let two men enter her private chambers in the middle of the night and ordering them to interfere if they believe her to be in danger.

Butterflies flutter in the merchant's stomach as they enter her private chambers. He still has no idea why Thomassen felt the need to drag him along, and has no doubt the King would be extremely displeased to learn of their presence here. His companion, on the other hand, has relaxed for the first time since they left, and is making himself at home at the princess's table, pulling out fancy white chairs covered in plump flowers for them to sit on, sorting through his documents and placing them on the hard surface.

"I apologize about disturbing you both at such a late hour. I would wait until the early hours morning, however the issue we must discuss is urgent."

Again with the overly fancy and strange way of speaking. Jan will stock out like a sore thumb with his courteous yet common tongue. He hopes her highness won't be offended by it.

"Disturbing us both? Please don't tell me you disrupted two households with your dilemma," the dark-haired lady sighs.

"My dilemma, your _highness_ , could affect the entire country," the foreigner's tone is sharp, "a few days ago, an acquaintance of mine gave me _this_ message he intercepted. As you can see, the first few sentences are written in Nordligan, the second in Hualese."

The badly crumpled piece of paper has clearly been through a lot, the writing on it difficult to maje out, clearly scribbled down at the very last minute. The Hualese symbols are written by a foreigner, he can tell that must. They're overly simple and awkward to read.

_With regards to our last letter, I suggest we abduct Princess Sofia of Siedlerde, as Princess Chiara of the R.I.S. has been missing for a week._

That _would_ explain why Thomassen is on edge.

"Hold on. Princess Chiara of the R.I.S. has been missing for a week? Why haven't we heard of this yet?" he frowns.

He doubts the R.I.S. would have kept silent if their future queen went missing. In that case, why isn't anyone talking about it? Thomassen just stares at him.

"You understand Hualese?"

"Of course. Most of my clients are Hualese."

The Nordliger mutters something, probably rude, under his breath, throwing a exasperated, slightly reproachful look at the taller male.

"I don't suppose you could have mentioned that earlier? I had to sent this all the way to Hilal for my brother to translate it."

"Never came up in conversation," Jan grunts.

"Anyway, I translated the first part myself, and my brother translated the second part," Thomassen turns to the princess, "here is the letter translated in its entirety."

The second piece of paper is also crumpled, although the writing is more discernible.

_Trade war with the R.I.S. averted. New objective: Set the Emperor's Palace on fire in Hualong and then make it appear that Siedlerde is the culprit. If this doesn't set them at each other's throats, then what will?_

_Regarding our last message, I suggest we abduct Princess Sofia of Siedlerde, seeing as Princess Chiara of the R.I.S. has been missing for a week._

The princess' eyes go wide as she reads the message.

"Regarding Princess Chiara's disappearance, I may have an idea as to where she is currently residing, so I don't think we should concern ourselves with that for the time being. Our primary concerns should be the possible war with Hualong and a planned kidnapping of a member of the royal family. I'm not sure when this message was written or sent, or if it was even received. Regardless, we must act quickly."

"A war with Hualong? We'd be decimated," Jan huffs.

Hualong is no military dwarf. Its army has successfully pushed back Ksevtokan troupes multiple times along the course of its history, a feat accomplished nowhere else in the world. Although Siedlerde's army is impressive, the King has been lenient in this time of peace and spends nowhere near the needed sum on it. If Hualong were to attack, Jan doubts they'd resist any longer than a day.

"My father must be informed immediately," her royal highness decides, pushing her chair back as she stands up.

Before she even reaches the door, the night is split open by the scream of sirens. They echo through the empty streets and hallways, waking adults and children alike, the latter letting out caterwauls of their own in fear, as dogs begin to bark and horses neigh in panic. Jan feels his hair stand up at the back of his neck, goosebumps spreading across his skin. Thomassen's face has turned white as a sheet.

In the distance, barely audible, a murmur of screaming and what could almost be mistaken for fireworks washes over Jan's ears.

The meaning of the sirens is unmistakable.

Mittestadt is under attack. Siedlerde is at war.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So... because of uni, I no longer have as much time to write as I used to, so updates for the next five months will be rare. I'm really sorry about that, but I'm trying to make them longer so they're worth the wait!   
> Thanks to those who commented or left kudos last chapter! And thank you to everyone who's still reading this! 
> 
> Not quite sure whether it warrants a warning, but there's a conversation that could be viewed as blackmail in this chapter. 
> 
> Erzsébet Héderváry: Hungary

They've lost. The moment the first Hualese ship opened fire on the city of Mittestadt, the note-writers had won. As they speak, the King will be organising a War Council Meeting, and will have little patience for conspiracy theories. Not until he has backed the invaders into a corner, which will never happen. Hualong's army is just too strong for Siedlerde. Any second now, guards will burst through the door to escort the Princess to a safe place, only for them to be ambushed and her kidnapped as soon as they leave the Palace. The situation's hopeless.

An explosion makes the palace walls shake. The sirens continue to wail, their constant screeches starting to pound at Jan's head. He has never seen war before. Whenever tensions began to rise in the past, he had always left the area before they escalated. Cowardly behaviour, some may say. Jan calls it self-preservation. Now, however, with no way out, especially if Hualong has entered via the port, panic can rear its ugly head. The paralyzing feeling surges through his veins, screams at him to flee, to grab his sister and get out of here somehow. Clammy hands, a chest that tightens, dizzy, the Siedlerdan finally understand what terror feels like.

"You speak Hualese, right? You mentioned earlier that you understand it, but do you speak it?"

Eirik's pupils are dilated, his skin white as a sheet, yet he's alert, his mind racing, desperately thinking of a way to get them out of this mess. The fear rushing through him slows Jan's mind, so he can only blink, not fully comprehending his companion's question, instead focusing on unimportant details. His last conversation with Emma ended in an argument. What if she's killed? What if he's killed? What will happen to Noah if they both die?

The Nordliger, however, decides they have no time for this, as he cuts through the merchant's thoughts with harsh words.

"Get a grip on yourself, De Vries. You're a grown man. I understand you're scared, but you're too old to let it consume you. Now answer my question. Do you speak Hualese?"

His words spark irritation in Jan's gut. It's easy for Eirik to remain calm through all this. He's lived through war, it isn't enough to faze him. Jan doesn't like being talked down to, especially in this type of circumstance.

"Yes, I speak Hualese. What about it?" he snaps.

Raised eyebrows question his intelligence, and if he didn't know better, he would have sworn Eirik appears offended by his hostility. They don't have time to argue, however.

"In case it has escaped your notice, I don't speak Hualese. Therefore _you_ will be negotiating with the Emperor." The Nordliger turns to the Princess. "Your Highness, go and find your guards. Tell them you're in danger, and get them to send Mikkel Køhler to guard you. He knows how Nordligers operate. You'll be safer with him."

The raven-haired woman nods, face pale, hands shaking, before she rushes out of her chambers. Jan, on the other hand, is still processing his companion's suggestion. Negotiate with the Hualese Emperor? Walk straight up to the enemy and demand they listen to his cause?

"It's suicide. They'll kill me on sight," he protests.

"No, they won't. The Emperor's fair. He'll listen to what you have to say."

"How can you be certain the Emperor is here in Mittestadt?"

The merchant will not risk it. The Emperor may listen to him, but who's to say his underlings share that willingness?

"If the Emperor's palace was set alight, I'm certain he'll want to see the King's Palace burn with his own eyes. He's here."

"And what will you be doing while I risk my life?"

Eirik sighs, glancing to the window before answering. A pale light flickers in the distance. Fire. They don't have much time left.

"I will be convincing the Court they've been misled."

Jan frowns.

"The King won't let you speak. We're at war, remember? For him, it's too late to negotiate peace."

"No, he won't," Eirik agrees, "but his sons will."

"I still think your plan's suicidal. I don't suppose you have a duplicate of your message? It would make things easier."

The Nordliger shakes his head.

"Tell the Emperor the King wishes to meet with him. He's no fool. Mittestadt is at a disadvantage. It's perfectly believable for his Majesty to surrender."

The shorter man takes a step forward, pulls something out of the pockets of his robe and places it in Jan's hand. A sudden coolness spreads across his palm, a soothing aura overtaking his senses and calming him down. He tilts his head to get a better idea of what it is, but Eirik has folded his fingers over it, a silent plea for him not to look.

"If things go badly, show him this. He'll know what it is."

"Do I get to know what it is?"

The words should be a jest, but they come out harsher than intended. Eirik looks away.

"Another day. It would take too long to explain. Consider it a symbol, if you wish. Only use it as a last resort. There are things I would rather my enemies never be aware of."

He doesn't step back, doesn't turn away, simply stands there, so close Jan can see the bags under his eyes and the fear flickering in them. It reassures him that Eirik, too, is scared. And despite his fear, he stands tall, ready to face whatever comes his way.

A sudden thought crosses the Siedlerdan's mind, an idea so unnerving he dismisses it immediately.

_He's stunning._

The panic's talking, steering his mind away from important matters and focusing his attention on smaller details, such as Eirik's face. He should leave now, before he gets distracted.

"Don't mess up," he mutters.

"I could say the same to you."

"Oh, and Eirik, my friends call me Jan, not De Vries."

And Jan is gone, panic fluttering in his heart despite the soothing symbol in his hand. He has an Emperor to pacify.

_I am not dying today._

* * *

Eirik is tired, terrified and frustrated. The thunder of canons rumbles throughout the city, growing ever further away from Mittestadt's docks. His heart speeds up, then falters, an explosion much too close for comfort flaring the fear in his stomach. Different weapons, but the citizens' panic is the same as back home. They bring back memories, memories he wants to dispel.

_We don't have time for this._

When was the last time he slept? He had been meaning to go to bed, but Emil's message had arrived, and the opportunity lost. He's in no state to debate, his mind slowed by fatigue, but there's no time for a twenty minute nap. Besides, if Jan, who is witnessing war for the first time, can muster the will to walk into an enemy base, then sleep-deprived Eirik can very well interrupt a war council meeting and convince a group of hypocrites they're wrong.

His arrival goes by almost unnoticed. After all, not everyone lives near the Palace, and the attack is unexpected. The Court has more pressing issues than a few late arrivals.

The War Council Meeting has clearly been put together at the last minute. No chairs are laid out, no glasses of grape juice are being passed around, not one courtesan is spreading gossip. Not even the Royal Family are seated, the King and his sons stand at the far end of the room. Eirik identifies a few familiar faces, such as the Solterrish ambassador and the General of the Siedlerdan army, others have never attended a Court Meeting before.

The General is currently arguing with the Crown Prince. It's not an uncommon sight, Erzsébet Héderváry and Prince Gilbert rarely agree on anything. In fact, the fearsome woman seems to be the only one capable of winning an argument against the arrogant man.

Still, whether they're arguing about war strategies or not, they don't have time for this.

"Your royal highnesses, permission to speak?" he calls.

The time for formalities and false politeness has passed. If the General of their army can get away with publicly insulting the Crown Prince, than a courtesan who put an end to centuries-old tensions can get away with omitting proper titles.

The hypocrites groan, whisper to each other about how he only chooses to intervene now, mutter that his presence isn't needed here. The King glances over at him, his facial expression telling Eirik that he isn't willing to listen to him tonight. Odd, considering Eirik is the sole reason they avoided war last time. Fortunately, his sons, still unused to being addressed as though they are on equal footing with their father, grant it.

"Permission granted, Mister Thomassen," Gilbert nods.

Before anyone can protest loudly enough, Eirik launches himself into his explanation.

"I've only just arrived, so forgive me if I'm breaking any pre-established rules. I understand we are under attack, but before we launch our counter-offensive, there's something your Royal Majesty needs to see."

The room goes silent, save for the quiet muttering of those who dislike him, and even they fade away when the King turns his stern gaze to the Court.

"As General Héderváry can surely attest to, our army lacks the strength to push back Hualese troops. We were not prepared for an attack, and, to make things worse, most of our soldiers are scattered across the country. To put things crudely, we don't stand a chance."

The General nods, although her green eyes watch him with curiosity dancing in them. She doesn't trust any member of the Court, especially not a member of the Permanent Court, although she has never displayed hostility towards Eirik, only amused apprehension.

"Indeed. As I was just telling Prince _Gilbert_ here, we've been taken by surprise. Even if I don't doubt our men will fight with all they've got, Mittestadt will fall in a day at most," she says.

"That doesn't mean we should just _surrender_ to them," the albino snaps back.

"Enough. General, Gilbert, quit your childish arguing," the King interrupts, eyes narrowed. "Thomassen, I appreciate your concerns, but we don't have all night. Make it quick."

Eirik inclines his head respectfully to the King.

"Of course, your Majesty. Now that we've established Hualong has a more powerful army, does no one wonder _why_ they attack us now? Surely there have been better opportunities in the past."

"Thomassen. Cut to the chase."

The Nordliger walks forward, hands him the note, steps back, and waits. His eyes scan the assembly, searching for any nervousness not brought on by the situation at hand. He doubts a Siedlerdan courtesan to be behind the note, but one can never be too certain. A few people crane their heads, others shuffle, none seem alarmed. Either there are no traitors here, or they hide their game very well.

The King doesn't speak. Instead he waits for Eirik to continue, giving nothing away.

"The current attack is based on false accusations against the Kingdom of Siedlerde. Instead of marching our pathetic excuse of an army to be decimated by Hualong, we should meet with the Emperor and set things straight. Siedlerde did not set fire to the Emperor's Palace, as far as I am aware. This would be easy to prove. There is no need for violence."

He ignores the rest of the Court, speaking only to the King. In dire situations like these, his opinion is the only one that matters. Convince the King, and he has won. Naturally, the hypocrites loathe his attitude. To them, all he seeks his power and good favour with their ruler. They fail to see the bigger picture, so consumed by their petty hunger for power.

_They really are pathetic, aren't they?_

Finally, the King waves his hand, a clear sign of dismissal.

"Court adjourned. Thomassen, General, you may stay. Everyone else, out."

His orders do not apply to his sons, of course. As members of the Royal family, unless specifically asked to leave, they may stay.

A wave of protests follow his announcement as thousands of hateful stares let Eirik know he has just made many new enemies. However, only one intrigues him. Eloise Dubois, who should be taking this harder than anyone else, if her pride is taken into consideration, does not glare at him. Instead, she seems almost smug. Her lips are curved upwards, her blue eyes mock him. What does she know that he doesn't?

The air starts to reek of smoke, although the Hualese have finally eased their fire. Jan can't have reached the Emperor by now, so this brief respite is temporary. Still, it allows Eirik to breathe again. Or, it would, if Dubois hasn't planted the first seeds of doubt in his stomach. What does she know that he doesn't? What cards has she played that he hasn't?

"How can we be sure it's not forged? The Hualese could have intended it to be found by a Siedlerdan and plan to lead us into a trap," the General raises her doubts after reading the note.

"The person who translated this told me the Hualese is off. Whoever wrote it isn't a native speaker. Besides, I doubt many people outside the U.R.N. speak Nordligan."

"So you're suggesting we send a messenger to arrange a meeting with the Emperor? It sounds like surrender to me," Prince Gilbert frowns.

"Perhaps, but it's better than losing the capital. We won't have to send anyone, however. Jan De Vries, a merchant with many Hualese clients, is on his way as we speak."

The King shoots him a displeased glance at the news.

"It was necessary, your Majesty," the Nordliger defends himself.

"That doesn't mean you should make decisions without consorting with me beforehand. I'm assuming you've also arranged for my daughter to be escorted somewhere safe?"

"I instructed her to have Mikkel Køhler sent to protect her. He's our best fighter."

The old man pierces him with an indecipherable stare, almost as though he cannot decide whether to be grateful his daughter is safe or angry Eirik acted behind his back. He turns to the General.

"Order all troops to fall back. Raise the white flag. I will not have my city destroyed because of a lie."

"Straight away, your Majesty."

"Gilbert, Ludwig, find yourself some guards and somewhere safe to hide. If this is a trap, I want Siedlerde's successors to survive."

Gilbert opens his mouth to protest, but his younger brother pulls on his sleeve. Sighing loudly enough for the whole of Mittestadt to hear, he begrudgingly follows Ludwig out of the Court Room.

Eirik awaits dismissal, but it never comes.

"Thomassen, I wish to speak with you. I assume we have time on our hands before the Emperor accepts to meet with us, and my other subjects can wait a little longer before learning of our plans," the King says.

"Of course, your Royal Majesty. What do you wish to speak to me about?"

Eirik's tired. His head's pounding. He barely has the energy to keep up his formal speech. His accent slips, but he can't bring himself to make much of an effort to fix it. He would rather sleep than talk with the King, but he has little choice in the matter.

"I trust your judgement, Thomassen. However, that does not mean I follow your ideas blindly. The next time you decide to make plans by yourself, think very hard about the consequences of your actions. If you come to be wrong, my trust in you will be severed."

So it's going to be one of _those_ meetings. Eirik is too tired to deal with empty threats right now. If only it were acceptable to tell your King you're too exhausted to deal with his paranoia.

"Have I ever been wrong, your Majesty?" he asks instead.

Perhaps a little on the cheeky side, but he can't help it. Under King Hans of Siedlerde, he has never been wrong once. In fact, he's been helping this God forsaken country ever since he moved here. Is it too difficult for people to give him the benefit of the doubt once in a while?

"I suspect you have, else you would not be here, serving Siedlerde instead of the U.R.N."

Eirik furrows his eyebrows, apprehension gnawing at his stomach. The King has never inquired about his life back home, has never asked him why exactly he chose Siedlerde over the U.R.N.'s neighbour, Gudarnasland. Why suggest something now?

"My apologies, your Majesty, but I don't see what you're suggesting."

"Don't you? The Solterrish Ambassador has ways of knowing things as well, Thomassen. You underestimate her capabilities too much."

"Dubois is loyal to Solterre, your Majesty, and has no great love for me. It would be wise to take that in consideration if she mentions me," Eirik points out.

"True, but at least she is loyal to one government. From what I hear, you are not even capable of that."

The apprehension bursts into icy cold fear. It washes over Eirik, raising the hairs on his skin and cutting his breath short.

_Dubois knows. The King knows._

Said King watches him lazily, not smiling, he doesn't smile, but with the satisfaction of a cat that has just caught a juicy mouse. It is a look Eirik loathes, due to the amount of times he has seen it. He is not prey, not anymore.

"I am loyal to Siedlerde."

"No, you're not. You are loyal to whichever side advantages you the most. If Hualong promised to send an army to eradicate the rebels in the U.R.N., you would abandon Siedlerde completely."

The statement offends the younger male. His vision goes red for a second, and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm down. If the King knows, then he must tread carefully. He can't blow up in the man's face, no matter how wrong he may be.

"With all due respect, your Majesty, you are wrong. I may have a personal agenda which modifies my political stance, but I remain loyal to this country. If Dubois suggested otherwise, then she is a fool."

"Hold your tongue, Thomassen. I am your King."

_No, you're not. I may be a member of your Court, but I serve Siedlerde, not the Siedlerdan King, and you know that._

The King takes a step closer to him, and Eirik makes the amateurish mistake to take a step back. Survival instinct it may be, it shows the man his unease.

"Dubois is not the only one to tell me about you, Thomassen. Since your arrival, two rebel groups have approached me with the request I send them your head. They promised a great deal more if I sent you back alive. Naturally, I refused. They _are_ persistent, though."

The fear is back again, the not-so-subtle threat proving itself to be effective. At least two rebel groups know he's in Siedlerde, serving in the King's Court. He may not have kept a low profile, but for them to locate him so quickly isn't right. It scares him more than he dares to admit.

"The Sannar Arvingjar are not trustworthy, your Majesty. Whatever they promise you, you will never obtain it," he warns.

Despite the threat, he's still unsure as to whether the old man would give him up to the rebels. Surely he has proven himself more useful to Siedlerde alive than dead?

"There was, however, one rebel even more persistent than the others. I wonder, Thomassen, what are your ties to a certain Kristian Larsen?"

And Eirik's mind switches off. His blood turns to stone, his hands begin to shake, memories flash back in rapid succession, each one worst than the last. Not Kristian. Kristian does not know where he is. Kristian can't know where he is. He's dreaming. The lack of sleep is finally damaging his brain.

"Thomassen?" the Siedlerdan sighs."If you can't answer that, then tell me about his group of rebels."

"Kryld."

The word lingers on his tongue like venom, slowly infecting his mind. Kryld. What an ugly name for a group of rebels. What a pathetic bunch of human beings. What a terrifying group of monsters.

"And what do you know about Kryld?"

"I believe you already know, your Majesty," Eirik murmurs.

"Mister Larsen desperately wants you alive, although I cannot fathom why. The only reason he knows you are here, in Mittestadt, is because you underestimate the Court you seek to manipulate. You create enemies every time you speak up in Court, enemies you do not try to appease afterwards. You think of them as lesser than yourself. That is an amateur mistake to make, Thomassen," the King explains.

"You wouldn't accept his offer, would you?"

The King blinks, taken aback by the softness in the courtesan's voice. Eirik doesn't particularly care about being told of his shortcomings right now. Kristian has contacted the King. Kristian knows where he is. What else matters?

"You fear him more than you do a war with Hualong," King Hans realises, "why is that?"

Eirik isn't sure how to answer. His mind is reeling, trapped in the past.

_"You're not as smart as you think you are, Eirik. Remember that."_

Finally, he forces the words out of his mouth.

"Only a fool wouldn't fear him, your Majesty." He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. "So, you wish to threaten me. If I act behind your back again, you'll turn me over to," he fumbles with that name, unable to speak it out loud, "to the rebels, am I correct?"

"Again, you think yourself smarter than me. In short, yes. I trust you, but I cannot risk you upsetting the courtesans any more than you already do. We need them, Thomassen, even if you refuse to believe it." The King finally takes a few steps back. "I do not consider this a threat, however, more of a warning. You have many enemies, Thomassen. I would hate my future advisor to be murdered because he underestimated them."

Eirik glances sharply at the King.

"Future advisor?"

"My current one is getting old. I will need a new one when he retires."

"I'm afraid I don't understand you, your Majesty. You threaten to send me to a monster if I refuse to play by your rules, yet at the same time you wish me to be your advisor."

For the first time, the King smiles. Not an ear-splitting grin, just a slight curl of his lips upwards, but it remains a smile.

"Welcome to the world of politics, Thomassen. I suggest you start playing the game seriously. God knows you've got potential."

And the King is gone, strides out of the Court Room to inform the courtesans of their new plan of attack.

Eirik stumbles backwards until he finds a wall to lean against, shuts his eyes, tries to get rid of the memories, to focus on the task at hand. His heart hammers in his chest, and for once he has no cross to calm him down. The King's words haunt him. Kristian wants him back alive. Dubois knows about his past.

_And Jan, the closest person you have to an ally in the political field, is unaware of everything. If Dubois tells him first..._

Stupid mistake. He should have guessed that bitch would do anything to get him overthrown, that she wouldn't stop at spreading false rumours. And now he's given De Vries a symbol of allegiance, one that would make the Emperor listen to what they have to say, but that could cost him the Hualese man's trust.

His head hurts. Surely a short nap won't hurt anyone. Letting himself slide down the wall, he listens to the song of destruction playing on repeat outside the Palace walls. Somehow, now he knows a monster is hunting him once more, the chaos outside reminds him more and more of a soothing lullaby, one that lulls him to sleep, to escape from the madness for a short while.

_"You've got potential, Eirik. You just need to learn that those around you aren't idiots."_

A cruel reminder, one he should have heeded years ago. When he could afford to lose.

 


End file.
